Last Thing I Needed
by Hardline
Summary: The dissolution of the Brotherhood, seen through the eyes of its least-appreciated member. Rated for suicidal themes and implied slash.


Not only do I not own X-Men: Evolution, I can't figure out how to use FF.net to separate this mess into chapters. Please forgive me.  
  
'Last Thing I Needed' belongs to the immortal Willie Nelson  
  
Lyranfan: Thanks for the kind words. My very first review on my very first story. Glad you enjoyed.  
  
DemonRogue13: Somebody had to take Fred's side, in all this. Since I have a lot of experience being as ugly fat guy, I figured it should be me.  
  
Childrenwithblades: Thanks for the kind words. I'm just glad somebody read it.  
  
-The postman delivered a past-due bill notice, and the alarm clock rang two hours late  
  
-The garbage man left all the trash on the sidewalk, and the hinges fell off of the gate  
  
-This morning at breakfast, I spilled all the coffee and opened the door on my knee  
  
-And the last thing I needed, first thing this morning, was to have you walk out on me  
  
Fred woke up slowly, not wanting to leave the somewhat-warm bed. He hadn't done much BUT sleep, since the brotherhood had dissolved. Just didn't seem to be a reason to do anything. Just enough light jabbed in through the broken particle board covering the windows for him to determine that it was daylight outside, but to a guy with no job, no friends, and no life, day and night gradually lose their meaning.  
  
The groaning noise he heard as he sat up came partly from his overtaxed bed, and partly from himself. Verticality brought up an immediate morning need, which reminded him that the water in the dilapidated boarding house had been shut off, months ago, along with the power and the gas. So, for the nth time, he shuffled towards the back door to take care of business. The way the floor creaked and protested under his ponderous weight spoke of the high probability of the whole goddam place falling down around his goddam ears, pretty goddam soon. As if he cared.  
  
He stepped out onto the back porch, taking in a sharp breath as the cold February air hit him square in the face. He tried to keep his bare feet mostly out of the snow as he relieved himself off the back porch; he might have been nearly invulnerable to most things, but frostbite wasn't one of them.  
  
The fence around the crumbling house was full of gaps and holes – many of them installed years ago, by virtue of various Brotherhood members running, flying, or being hurled through them – but Fred wasn't concerned about anyone seeing him taking a whiz. Anyone respectable or uptight to care had long since moved out of the area; living next to The Brotherhood was, somehow, not an experienced that their neighbors had relished. Other than the occasional vagrant passing through, and the resident crackheads, Fred was alone, in the house and on the street.  
  
Occasionally, said vagrants and crackheads would try to set up shop in the old boarding house, but he had had no trouble discouraging them. He was always home to defend his turf, except for the times that he walked down to the Stop-N-Rob to use their toilet, or snuck into the high school after-hours to take a shower in the gym. Since the entire Brotherhood had been expelled from Bayville High, months ago, he was kind of short on other options.  
  
Fred finished up and went back inside. Not much warmer than OUTSIDE, but at least it stopped that wind. Well, some of that wind. The Brotherhood had been no kinder to the walls of the house than they had been to the garden fence, something Fred often regretted, in hindsight. Of course, none of them had ever dreamed they'd be abandoned and destitute.  
  
Again.  
  
After Mystique's apparent death, Pietro had been the first to leave. Ran off to join his Daddy's Acolytes, taking The Brotherhood's sole means of support with him. Magneto was certainly not going to bankroll them, if Pietro wasn't on the team. Other than that last side-effect, Fred had been happy to see the obnoxious little crapstack gone. Of course, the boys in The Brotherhood ALWAYS acted obnoxious towards each other, but you could tell that Pietro didn't have any friendliness behind his sniping and snickering, to take the sting out. He had made Fred feel slow, fat, and stupid – no, to be more accurate, he had made Fred feel slowER, fattER, and stupidER, and THAT was before Pietro even said a word. The white-haired speedster's beautiful face and perfect body were a constant reminder to Fred what he could never have, or be.  
  
'Fred'. Crap, even his NAME was ugly.  
  
Dukes himself was so inured to taunts and insults that he simply didn't respond to Pietro's stabs, and eventually Mr. Perfect had decided that the fat boy was too dense to waste his wit on. From there on out, he had turned to abusing Todd, and that was when things came to a head.   
  
'Toad' Tolensky, like Fred, was used to having his physical appearance ridiculed. Unlike Fred, he was not huge and/or nearly physically invulnerable. People who didn't think they could hurt The Blob emotionally wouldn't even consider attacking him, physically. Todd just wasn't big enough, tough enough, or mean enough to hold his own in a scrap – no, Fred corrected himself, that wasn't true, either. The kid was absolutely capable of physically taking care of himself; he'd proved that in combat with the X-Men a dozen times. It just seemed that he was UNWILLING, when faced with Duncan, or the other jocks.   
  
Or Pietro.  
  
The maddening part was that he forbade Fred from taking any revenge, on his behalf, no matter what. He'd come home with a black eye, and Dukes would be ready to charge out and make hamburger out of the creeps who'd done it, but Todd would call him off, before he could even get started.  
  
Until meeting Todd Tolensky, he hadn't even realized that he needed somebody to protect. It gave him something to focus on, besides how angry he was and how shitty the world treated him. Finding ways to make sure the people who hurt his friend were hurt in return – without Todd finding out he'd done it – became a source of great pride. It had also been the source of one of the few deadly serious conflicts within The Brotherhood. Quicksilver was a natural bully, and once he determined that Todd was not going to fight back against verbal abuse, he graduated to physical abuse. Todd put up with it because he was forever mooning after Lance, who had a crush on Pietro, who was in love with himself – always clinging to the half-hope of getting Lance's attention, Tolensky wouldn't do anything to upset him by challenging Pietro.  
  
Fred had no such compunctions.  
  
He couldn't just stomp up and take a swing at Maximoff – it would have been like trying to hit a jet with a sledgehammer. To take down Pietro required planning and research, two abilities nobody ever gave Fred any credit for. Advantage: Fred J. Dukes.  
  
Actually, catching Pietro had required only rudimentary cleverness, on his part. Which was, he assumed, why he had succeeded. Once he learned that Todd's new bruises were coming from the pretty boy bastard, Fred had simply spent a couple of weeks studying Quicksilver's patterns, around the house. It hadn't taken him long to determine what time of day and for how long Pietro would be in the bathroom, every morning; even with HIS speed, all that primping and preening took time. Fred had just knocked on the door, then walked into the bathroom without waiting for an answer, while his quarry was in the shower, on the pretense of borrowing his toothpaste. Pietro was just sticking his head around the shower curtain to give an indignant tirade when Fred grabbed him and hauled him out, naked and dripping.   
  
His big paw nearly encircled the feminine teen's waist completely, and Fred had no trouble holding him up off the floor long enough to make his purpose clear. He turned the boy over and shoved his head into the toilet bowl, holding him underwater. As Pietro began to realize he was in serious danger of drowning, he began to struggle, but Dukes' superhuman grip just tightened on him, preventing him from getting even a gasp of air. In a panic, now, Quicksilver was thrashing so desperately that he was literally vibrating in Fred's hands. Only when Pietro's struggles had peaked, and he was in real danger of drowning, did Fred bring him up to look into his eyes.  
  
"I caught you, today, and I can catch you, again," he growled, as the slender bully coughed water and gasped like a landed fish. "Next time you – or ANYBODY – hurts Todd, I'll shove you right down that crapper like the turd you are."  
  
He honestly didn't know what he would have done if Pietro HADN'T taken his words to heart, and left Toad alone. He had never killed anybody, and he didn't want to start. Fortunately, he never had to find out.  
  
Lance was the last one to leave. Fred had been unsurprised when he had gone back to the X-Men, especially after Magneto had made it clear that the three remaining Brotherhood members were NOT welcome in his Acolytes. He seemed to recall the words 'brainless', 'useless', and 'morons' being employed by the master of magnetism, to get his point across.  
  
So, with Pietro now off-limits to his attentions, Alvers had turned to Xavier's bunch, and his secondary romantic target: Kitty Pryde. Well, that's what he SAID. It was pretty obvious, to Fred, that it was Scott Summers that Lance had a crush on. Didn't really make any difference, in the big picture. The Brotherhood only had two brothers left.  
  
The night before Lance left for Xavier's, Todd literally begged him to stay. The desperation in the kid's eyes as much as confirmed Fred's suspicion that Lance had occasionally thrown him a bone – no pun intended – when Pietro had turned HIM down. That would fit Lance's personality profile. He seemed capable of lust and obsession, but any actual romantic feelings were beyond him. Long as he was on top, it was all good; Pietro was just a trophy he wanted to brag about having. Fred had told Todd this, as many times, but the boy was smitten. If Tolensky had cheered up a little when Pietro left, he had absolutely crashed two weeks later, when Lance walked out.  
  
"No, man, no!" Todd had been nearly apoplectic in his pleading. "Y'can't leave, man! You just can't! Mystique'll come back, you'll see!"  
  
Lance just shook his head. "She's not coming back, and I don't care if she ever does. This isn't about her."  
  
"C'mon, man," Todd whined, "I'll clean the place up! I'll cook! I'll even shower!" Todd was hopping frantically around the living room of the boarding house, trying to pick up all the trash. Fred had a mental image of him rearranging the deck chairs on the Titanic.  
  
"It's not about you showering, either," Lance sighed, in the same tone of voice he used when he was getting a power headache.  
  
Todd leapt up and grabbed the front of Fred's overalls, looking desperately at him. "Freddy, man, tell him not to go! Tell him he can't!"  
  
Fred had been standing silently, up until that point, watching the ugly scene unfolding with sad resignation. He looked down into Todd's desperate eyes, big heart breaking as he watched his best friend's world fall apart. Slowly, he looked over and met Lance's deadpan gaze.  
  
"A brother wouldn't leave." They were the last words Fred had spoken to Lance Alvers, and he knew before he said them that they would change nothing.  
  
Alvers looked away and headed for his room, with Todd hopping after him. He was literally starting to beg and scream, now.  
  
Fred stood in the living room, exactly where he'd been standing for the entire conversation. He heard Todd follow Lance into his room, and then heard the door shut. Judging by the tone of muffled voices coming through it, Todd was in there baring his soul, for all the good it would do. He doubted it would even make a sociopath like Lance feel vaguely guilty.  
  
Lord, how he wanted a drink.  
  
Fred had actually had the foresight to clean out Mystique's liquor stash, right after she disappeared, but thus far he had only taken a few experimental sips; enough to tell that he didn't much care for most of the stuff. He had kept it, all the same, reasoning that it might come in handy for bartering, since they now had no income. The really pure stuff he was saving to supplement their meagre first aid kit.  
  
Besides, what he was really craving was a snack. His 'abilities' (curse) always made him more hungry than thirsty. Unfortunately, it was becoming more and more difficult to satisfy his overactive appetite in the boarding house. He grabbed a package of Ramen from the kitchen and trudged to his bedroom, munching on the square brick of noodles. Since the house had no gas, water, or electricity, he had nothing to cook them in, on, or with, but he found they were semi-edible in their raw state. He was sitting on his mattress, crunching away numbly, when he heard a timid knock on his door.  
  
"Yo, Freddy...n'I come in?"  
  
"Yeah."  
  
He had expected this. No matter what Todd and Lance had said to each other, it was going to end badly, and his little brother was going to need whatever comforting he could provide. He never found out exactly what had been said, but Lance had claimed he was going to pursue Kitty Pryde. Fred wasn't sure if that lie or the truth would have been a greater kindness, to Todd. It probably wouldn't have changed anything, in the end.  
  
That was the first night Todd – or anyone – had shared his bed. They had all been abandoned by somebody they loved, before, and now it was happening to Todd, all over again. After the boy had sniffled himself to sleep, snuggled between Fred's meaty arm and his side, Dukes had stayed wide awake, deathly afraid he'd roll over in the night and crush the kid. He was used to being Todd's support and comfort when he was depressed, and coming days and weeks would see the youngest Brotherhood member at his lowest. Fred absolutely hated himself for it, but he knew times like these were the only time in his life that anyone would ever want to touch him, and he so desperately needed human contact. So he held Todd close, stroked his hair gently, and hated himself all the more.  
  
-Last night you came home late, and I knew you'd been drinkin', by that old mellow look on your face  
  
-But I thought it don't matter, 'cause it's the holiday season, and you fill such a big empty space  
  
-I laid down beside you, and I wanted your lovin', 'cause your love makes my life complete  
  
-And the last thing I needed, first thing this mornin', was to have you walk out on me  
  
By New Year's, he should have known what was coming. The signs had all been there. Todd was growing steadily more depressed, despite all of Fred's best efforts. With Toad nearly immobilized in despair, it had fallen to him to take care of them both. He didn't have Pietro's shoplifting abilities or Todd's skills at pickpocketing, but he managed to swipe batteries to power his boom box (the only piece of electronic equipment that hadn't already been pawned to feed them both), so the house wouldn't be silent. A rummage through the basement had turned up enough candles to provide a little bit of light and warmth on the cold nights. The boarding house had an old fireplace, but Fred didn't dare light it. Smoke coming from that chimney would attract cops, who would find two underaged vagrants. It was a short trip from there to juvie, or even worse, foster care, where they would surely be split up.  
  
He was still smuggling jugs of water home from public buildings, and was now taking odd jobs, trudging through down every day to see if anybody needed snow shovelled, or firewood split, or just something heavy picked up and taken away. His body constantly ached, as much from the work as from his unsatisfied hunger, and he was wearing through the soles of his shoes, but he had a responsibility to his only friend, and he'd break his back to meet it.  
  
Through careful budgeting, he had even managed to buy winter clothing for both of them, at the thrift store. Mismatched and out of style, but still warmer than anything they HAD. Well, he had managed to find clothes for Todd; he was a bit more difficult to fit. He could find shoes, gloves, and hats, but the chances of finding an XXXXXL parka at the Salvation Army were pretty low. In the end, he had pinned a couple of old blankets together into a rough poncho. It was the only time he missed having Pietro around, with his instant tailoring.  
  
Shuffling down the sidewalk in THAT getup made him look like just one more freezing vagrant – which he was – so he had to be doubly careful to avoid the attention of the cops. On some bitterly cold nights, however, he was sorely tempted to DRAG Todd three miles across town to the mission, and take their chances, or even turn themselves in to the social services. They might lose their freedom, and maybe even each other, but they wouldn't freeze to death.  
  
He was literally starving, by now; try as he might, he couldn't afford enough groceries to satisfy the ravenous hunger his mutant power had cursed him with. His stomach burned and the ache in his bones made him cry, sometimes, but he didn't mention it. Todd had enough problems to deal with, without adding guilt. Every time he suggested going to the shelter, or the Y, or the cops, the kid started to sob, and say that they'd be broken up for sure, and he'd be alone. What was Fred supposed to do? He had trapped himself with his final words, to Lance: A brother wouldn't leave. He finally resolved himself to following Lance to the X-Men, whether Todd liked it, or not. After all, Fred would have to face being around Jean Grey; surely Todd could handle renewed contact with Lance. Xavier had invited them both, once, and he couldn't remember the invitation having been withdrawn.  
  
Then, the morning came when he woke up alone, again. He told himself that Todd had just gotten up earlier than he had, but by that time, he was having to literally pull the boy out of bed. He had a black sense of foreboding in his heart, warning him of what he already suspected.  
  
He found Todd, sprawled on the couch in the living room. The alcohol fumes hung heavy in the air, where the rum had soaked into the carpet after the bottle slipped from his nerveless grasp, sometime in the night. A single candle, burned almost to a nub, lent its fitful light to a small white bottle on the coffee table. Sleeping pills. Probably from Pietro's old medicine cabinet; the hyper speedster often complained of insomnia. Fred gave the bottle a shake, and the lack of a rattle confirmed its emptiness.  
  
Todd Tolensky's body was already cold.  
  
Fred could only remember pieces from the rest of that heartbreaking day. He remembered sinking down to sit on the floor, but not how long he'd stayed there, or just what he was feeling. He wasn't sure if he had cried as he wrapped his only friend's lifeless form in a blanket, nor when he'd decided to carry him to Xavier's school. He remembered arriving at the gates, numb even to the slashing cold wind that was blowing ice pellets in a white sandstorm, because Scott Summers had answered the intercom. Scott, usually Mr. Stick-Up-the-Trough, must have seen the pathetic little bundle in his arms through the security cameras, because he spared Fred the expected what-the-hell-are-you-doing-here-and-beat-it. The gates opened.  
  
Where else COULD he have gone, but to Xavier's? He couldn't bury his poor friend in the yard of the boarding house. If anyone should spot a new, unmarked grave out there, the place would be swarming with cops. At any rate, the place would probably be torn down in the Spring, and he wasn't going to risk some heartless bulldozer obliviously digging Todd up. Fred certainly couldn't afford a real funeral, so he swallowed his pride and asked his old enemy to help him.  
  
Xavier - being Xavier - was kind. He offered to have Todd interred on the Institute grounds, with a proper marker, upon which Fred could choose what to engrave. Fred asked for three words: Brother And Friend. The Professor had even had a black suit tailored for Fred, so he wouldn't look shabby at Todd's service. He had given it back, afterwards, even though Xavier – being Xavier – had said he could keep it. He had even offered Fred a place at the Institute, and help at getting reinstated at Bayville High, or at least buy him a real winter coat.  
  
Fred had declined the generosity; it just didn't feel right to accept all that kindness from a man he'd ridiculed and worked against, for so long. Besides, he wasn't thrilled about the prospect of joining Lance Alvers on another team.  
  
He could take no satisfaction in the shock and grief he saw on his ex-leader's face, when he told him the news. It was clear that Alvers blamed himself – Fred had been quite surprised, at that – but really, it was as much his own fault as Lance's. He should've made sure the drugs were stashed away, and the alcohol was better hidden. He should've forced Todd to go somewhere they could get help. Should've woke up when Todd left the bed, that final night.  
  
Should've, should've, should've.  
  
He remembered Lance using his powers to open the frozen earth, then seal it back up over Todd's mortal remains. After that, an hour or two or three of condolences from faces he barely recalled. A meal he hadn't eaten. He must have left early.  
  
Somehow, he found his way back to the empty boarding house. He sat down on the sofa, struck a match, and lit the remainder of the candle that had illuminated the last sad hours of Todd Tolensky's life.  
  
It also burned out, far too soon.  
  
-So excuse me for lookin' like my world just ended  
  
-And excuse me for lookin' like I just lost my best friend  
  
-And excuse me for living, and being forgivin', so just go on if you want to be free  
  
-But the last thing I needed, first thing this mornin, was to have you walk out on me 


End file.
